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On the Road
Somewhere in the forest... ----- :A deep, mellow twilight permeates the forest, a physical manifestation of the rich, spicy, warm-pine smell of the shardwoods. The trees themselves tower majestically, upward-reaching columns of soft, feathered bark that widen at the base. :The forest floor is littered, not with leaves, but with the small supple twigs and scalelike leaves of the giants. High above leaves rustle in the wind, the far-off, muted sound emphasizing the complete stillness of this place. The occasional heavily-mossed boulder rests, almost buried, in the carpet of debris. Off behind one particularly large tree to the southwest, the ground slopes down into a hollow. ----- Night has fallen over the Emperor's Forest. Stars light up the canopy of shadow-dark trees and indigo sky above, while below fireflies dance and frolic to the music of crickets. There are gnats, too. Caprice swats at one with an irritated backhand while she busies herself with stoking a fire, where a spitted duck is turning slowly, roasting to blackened and greasy goodness over red fingers of flame. *Flick* A branch with a fanning of twigs and leaves at one end goes whisking by Caprice's ear, dangerously close, before Ashlynn simply drops the makeshift switch into the pathfinder's lap with a grin. "The layer's comb plant is best for deterring those, but having a chronic shortage of those in the meantime, we will have to make do," she notes while dropping an armful of scavenged materials for the fire's feeding through the night. Reese flinches, teeth bared like some feral animal, from the swish of filched foliage - only to narrow her eyes at the courier, as is so often her wont, and settle into her usual thin frown. She stabs at the logs, eyes on the duck. "Horses hobbled an' wa'ered?" At the animal display, Ashlynn looks woefully tempted to poke at Caprice with one of the remaining sticks in her hand before the question manages to distract her. Rolling her eyes, she slumps down, leaning comfortably back against Conceit's saddle with the blanket underneath as padding. "Yes, I do have a habit of caring for the tools of my trade. How is the duck coming along?" "Black an' greasy, wi' bloody bones," Reese replies in tones no less neutral than ever; however, it should be noted she has taken quite quickly to nature's flyswatter. "'Tis a shame we could nae fin' th' dooklin's. They-- dam''nation,"'' she cuts off, wrinkling her nose and swiping the air with the switch, frustrated to the point of allowing her eyes to follow the pest around and around in dizzying circles. "Lan', y' thrice-cursed wretch. Lan', I bloody dare ye." Ashlynn begins to wrinkle her nose before she looks vaguely affronted at the mention of the ducklings. "They'd hardly make a mouthful...!" she begins to protest before choked laugh emerges at the pathfinder's frustration. "It must be able to smell the carrion on you." Reese's hand connects with her opposite forearm, a muffled slap of leather and flesh against ringmail, punctuated by a grunt of victory. But... alas. The second she removes her fingers from the site of impact, the insect buzzes blearily away, unfazed. This does not please her, but in the end, she resigns herself to pinning back her hair and drawing her hood - the next best option. Finally, an unapologetic peal of laughter emerges from her campmate at this sign of capitulation. "Even the small have ways of contending with the mighty," she snickers, digging out a small bag of travel biscuits and holding up one of the hard pucks with a brow in offering. "Best when one has some soup to soften it in, but even without, it helps fill in the empty spots." The laughter is ignored, but not the bread; flavorless it may be, but one does not grow accustomed to gourmet cooking while ranging solo in the wild. Reese holds out her free hand, switch draped across her knees as if it were a lord's longsword lain in naked threat. "Dook weel be dun soon," she assures the other woman. Ashlynn lobs the hardtack toward the outstretched hand, her mouth twitching with additional humor at the oddly noble image Caprice makes in spite of the rustic trappings. "I look forward to it. I do not usually have time to set traps for meat when I am on my routes, and I do not care to hit some poor sot's foot by accident in trying my hand at hunting." "'Tis quite simple." To someone who's been doing it all her life, perhaps, but Reese says this as if it were universal truth. Not caring to add a broken tooth to the evening's travails, she breaks off a piece of the hard rations and worries at it with her teeth. "C'n y' shoot a bow?" Ashlynn casts the pathfinder an aggrieved look for the simplistic declaration while she nibbles at the biscuit's edges with practiced patience. "Tried once on a dare from my brothers. Made one of them howl, even if he took no permanent hurt." Reese's curious quirk of brow voices the question without her so much as moving her lips, and something that may or may not be a smile - may or may not be a trick of the light - ghosts the corners of her mouth. Ashlynn continues to mull over her portion of travel rations before, finally giving in to the silence, fills it with a disgruntled, "I had always learned to throw at what I am looking at. You focus on the target, draw your hand back, and follow through. Except that as I was trying to aim the damned contraption, one of my brothers started hooting and catcalling from the sidelines. Well, of course I had to turn and retort! My release could have been timed better, I suppose." A heartbeat's pondering, and then a contemplative smirk blooms across her face. "Then again, I suppose it couldn't have been any better. Mother declared it a flesh wound and would not let him skip out on any of the chores." Faint, chuckling laughter from Caprice's end is hidden behind her hand, though mirth is in her eyes as well. "Poor lad," she mumbles, stabbing again at the embers. "I were allus a finer archer than Kael. Be'er a-wood, aye, s'well, boot... he were stronger, built li' a horse." "Well, at least someone got a laugh out of the story...doubly profitable, since it was you," Ashlynn mock grumbles before peering at her companion and snorting, mouth crooking wickedly. "Well, I would say that it turned out well in the end. It would hardly be as becoming if it had been the other way around, no?" All laughter is chased away by that particular question; the Pathfinder falls silent, averting her hooded gaze to the fire once more. She prods the poultry, now, not seeming so much impatient as merely distracted. Innocent the question might have been, however... "Nae," Reese answers after too long of a moment, "'t woul' nae." Ashlynn's face falls into befuddlement at the unexpected reaction, before reason catches up and she slumps back against the saddle again with a huff. "Eh, well, he seems to handle things well, no? Happily married, no less, at least from the way he talks. Haven't had the pleasure of meeting his wife yet, though I would look forward to the chance. He's done better than either of us in that respect, yes?" she attempts levity before switching the subject altogether with a plaintive sniff at the air, "Is the duck done yet?" "Doon as lik' 't weel get, whit if'n we hoope t' wake fer dawn," replies Reese, shifting the branch from her lap so she may rise to carve a piece from the cooking meat. Her wrist flicks, deftly producing a dagger from her fingerless gauntlet so she may sample a slice. Apparently satisfied, she begins sawing off a drumstick, working the joint with practiced twists until the unfortunate fowl's limb is separated from its body. It's offered to Ashlynn. "Thanks," Ashlynn grins, gingerly accepting the still-steaming limb and blowing on it for all of half a second before a grumble from her mid-section heralds her next decision. "Ow," she pants around a mouthful, expression soured by a too-hot mouthful; but too impatient to wait, swallows and tries again - albeit with a smaller bite this time. "How much farther you think we will have to go?" she asks as she swallows, vowels exaggerated as she fans futilely at her open mouth. Reese doesn't even glance up from the task of splitting the duck down the breast and wrenching its wing away. "A day's ride. Mayhap a day an' a half," she responds, drawing to her full height and licking grease from the pad of her thumb - with the rather unfortunate effect of lending a rather sinister air to her appearance, considering the blood from the dead bird's bones, the drawn hood, and the knife still in-hand. "Were 't joos' me, I coul' be there by soonfall on th' morrow." She sends a long look Ashlynn's way, frowning. Ashlynn pauses in the act of taking another bite, morbidly fascinated by this new aspect of the pathfinder, before the implied insult finally shakes her free to protest, "Hey now, you think you can outride an Imperial courier? I would not contend with you in archery - do not use me as an excuse for a slower pace. If the horse can bear the pace, I have slept and eaten in the saddle often enough..." She trails off after a moment and then peers narrowly at her campmate. "You are not sneaky enough to prod me into arguing for a faster pace for you...are you?" There's no answer from Reese, of course. She sweeps her cloak away to settle herself on the log she occupied moments before, primly slurping the duck's drippings from her fingers with only the tiniest and briefest look tossed across to her companion. And then? She just spears her dinner on the point of her knife, nibbling at the crispy skin clinging to the meat. Ashlynn's frown deepens into a scowl, and she refrains from the satisfaction of yet another retort...simply chomping down into her portion of the duck and biscuits with more vigor than the fare deserve. At the meal's end, she seems a bit more restored in spirits now that her hunger is sated; enough to offer, "I can take first watch, since you managed the fowl." By the time silence is broken, Reese has likewise reduced her wing to little more than red-slicked bones and knots of hard, inedible tendon, although the bread remains largely uneaten. The bone she tosses into the fire, not daring to attract whatever scavengers may be lurking in the woods any more than they already have, but the hardtack is slid into her pack and traded for the canteen. She indulges in a single long swallow before passing it Ashlynn's way. "Donnae make nae diff'rence t' me." "Well, just pretend that it does for once, all right?" Ashlynn asks wryly while she accepts the water, taking a long sip before conscientiously wiping the lip and passing the canteen back. "I'll bank the fire. Call you up for your turn when the Herald's at its highest." Caprice nods slightly, recapping the canteen and returning it to its place. Long fingers work at the clasp of her cloak, unfastening it so she may strip it from her shoulders, but the armor stays, right down to her boots. Sliding down from her perch, she grabs her pack, giving it a jiggle before employing it as a pillow. "Let th' dook roost a time," she suggests, curling up beneath her cloak. "Whit r'mains c'n be taken on th' rood." The fire is already settling down into ashes and coals with the occasional odd lick of flame with the help of a few judicious prods. Setting the stick aside after ensuring the duck's remnants are still taking advantage of the steady heat, Ashlynn rises with a stretch before moving to pace around the now-darker perimeter of their campsite. "Sweet dreams," she offers cheekily over a shoulder. Reese does not offer so much as a snore in reply. ----- Return to Season 7 (2008) Category:Logs